


See You Later

by DarkSeth



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Post-Reichenbach, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSeth/pseuds/DarkSeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-Reichenbach fic of John's reaction to Sherlock's fall and his "coping". Very short, Because of season 3 I have now added on another two chapters dealing with Sherlock's return and reaction (loosely based on Empty Hearse).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Was Not Goodbye

_Turn around and walk back the way you came now._  
 _No, I'm coming in._  
 _Just do as I ask. Please._  
 _Where?_  
 _Stop there._  
 _Sherlock?_  
 _Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop._  
 _Oh god._  
 _I— I— I can't come down so we'll... just have to do it like this._  
 _What's going on?_  
 _An apology. It's all true._

“ No, please, there's just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't... be... dead. Would you do...? Just for me, just stop it. Stop this... “

_Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?_  
 _Do what?_  
 _This phone call- it's, er... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they- leave a note._  
 _Leave a note when?_  
 _Goodbye, John._  
 _No. Don't—_

 

After Sherlock’s fall, John went into a depression. The thought that he could follow him was very tempting. With his Sig Sauer in the flat it would be quite easy and simple. He knew the thought should alarm him, but it didn’t and he was fine with that.

Occasionally he would visit Lestrade at the Yard. Inevitably he would end up crossing paths with either Anderson or Sally, and sometimes both. They always threw him smug looks, as if taunting. _‘See. Now everyone thinks he’s a fraud and a criminal. Freak got what was coming for him. We warned you.‘_ That alone kept him alive and seemingly sane. The thought to clear Sherlock’s name and avenge his death.

It was hard and often times dangerous. He had to call in many favours and he indebted himself to Mycroft and other powers many times over. But it all was worth it, because he pulled it off. Moriarty’s web was broken and revealed, and Sherlock’s name was cleared.

The day the statement of Sherlock’s innocence was released John knew his work was done. He could follow Sherlock one last time, like he always had done. His hand holding the Sig Sauer was steady.

_It was not goodbye, Sherlock, but “see you later”._


	2. Hindsight and Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought with me all the way. I'm still not pleased with it, but its the best I'll get right now. Sorry if Sherlock and Mycroft seem out of character. I kept seeing Khan while writing this so a little bit of him shows up. Mycroft... he is complex yet simple at the same time, I just need practice writing him.
> 
> Sorry its so short, but I hope you see what I was going for in this. I have one more chapter planned (might be two depending how it turns out) which I will start writing as soon as school calms down a bit.  
> Please leave a comment!

He should have stopped him. At any cost, even by revealing Sherlock's plan. Now it was too late.

It wasn’t that he did not see the signs of depression and thoughts of suicide, hell, John even hinted at it in their conversation. He did see it, and that was his problem. He was too reluctant to deal with it, so he turned a blind eye. It seemed too messy and full of feelings. But he should have braved that and helped John, told him that Sherlock was still out there. He was a coward and hindsight is 20/20.

His first warning that John had followed through should have been when there was no sign of him for several days, but he thought that John had just shut himself away when the announcement was made that his younger brother was innocent. It was his own stupidity and reluctance to deal with the depression. He never did like doing legwork, but apparently this time it was unavoidable. Someone had to go get Sherlock, and the only other person he would trust with the job had just offed himself.

Why did Sherlock have to end up in Serbia. He knew Mycroft hated learning unnecessary languages. 

_"Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear… Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft was now faced with the dilemma, how to tell Sherlock. He predicted five scenarios, none of which he was at all equipped to deal with. Or Mycroft could just let him find it out on his own… Mycroft shook his head. That wouldn’t do. He was quite worried how Sherlock would take the news. It would most likely be danger night for a month. An old memory drifted before his mind’s eye. _“Interesting, that soldier fellow… He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever.”_

“How’s John?”  
“He’s, moved on… He’s not in Baker street anymore.”  
“Well, where is he?”  
“Sherlock, you have to understand. The fall really hurt him.”  
“It shouldn’t have. The snipers were called off. He should be fine, unless he went and did something stupid. What do you think of the shirt?”  
“You, could say that…”  
“What is it Mycroft? Spit it out.”  
“Well, John… As I said. The fall really hurt him, in an… emotional way, and… You remember his limp-”  
“-Yes, of course I do!”  
“Well it came back, as did his depression. For a while he didn’t do anything. Then one day he came to me with a request for help.”  
“Help?”  
“He wanted to clear your name, and clear it he did.”  
“And-”  
“Do you know the reason he did that Sherlock?”  
“Friendship? Loyalty? I don’t know Mycroft. You know I don’t do emotions!”  
“Well, he told me.”  
“...”  
“He said it was a last farewell. A tribute before…” Mycroft turns away. Astonishingly his eyes look moist.  
Sherlock belligerently asks, “Before what?”  
“I’m going to repeat verbatim what he said: _You remember how I always followed him around? Well, I’m gonna do it one last time, to keep tradition. Mycroft… I can’t go on like this…_ ”  
Sherlock’s face pales. “He… Why didn’t you do anything?!”  
Mycroft’s shoulders slump. “I should have, I know.”  
“Then why didn’t you?!” A lone tear slips down the sculpted face.  
“It, seemed too… emotional.”  
“ _YOU_ … you… Too _emotional_? You- were supposed to take care of him! I left him in your care!”  
“I… I know Sherlock. And I failed.”  
“Oh, how the mighty Mycroft Holmes has fallen. You probably are quite pleased with yourself now, aren’t you!? All those times you couldn’t force me to do anything, I bet this is revenge. Another thing that the sociopath Sherlock Holmes can’t have, because sociopaths can’t have nice things.”  
“Sherlock-”  
“No, Mycroft. I do not want to deal with you right now, or ever. You knew, yet you still failed.”


	3. The Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns to Baker Street and then leaves whilst still trying to deal with John's death. Relapse.

Baker Street was just as he had left it two years ago; John apparently hadn’t changed a thing. His thoughts turned to his friend. John… Sherlock wasn’t willing to believe what Mycroft had told him. John was too strong, too much of a soldier to… do, _that_. No, John wasn’t dead. End of story.

When he arrived at Baker Street, he had given Mrs. Hudson quite a scare, but she quickly recovered. The years had changed her. There was a constant sad look in her eyes, as if she was always on the verge of tears. She never mentioned John by name, though she would constantly glance at his chair.

* * *

 

“Mrs. Hudson! I’m heading out! When John gets back, tell him we’re out of milk again!”  
“Sherlock dear-”

He was gone in a blast of cold air.  
“You do know he’s… gone.” She teared up again. He had forgotten it again. It was like Sherlock to delete a traumatizing memory. He had done it before, and when she told him, he had been distraught to the point of hysteria. Now what was she to do? Tell him again and see him fly apart, or leave him be and wonder where his friend went?

Just then the doorbell rang. _Mycroft_ , he was the only other person who would call at Baker Street.

“Mycroft, he’s gone and done it again.”  
“This does not bode well.”

* * *

 

It was true. Sherlock’s constant denial of John’s death was wearing him down. He didn’t know how to function without him. Sherlock would come home expecting John to be sitting on his chair or typing on the blog, but the flat was deathly still. John wasn’t there. A small voice would whisper in the back corner of his mind _Remember?_ The correct memories would start to resurface, but upon feeling the anguish that came with them he would stamp them down and ignore the whole occurrence, and still wait for John to come home. He never did.

His denial started to affect his work. Though he would never admit it, he had become reliant on the comments from his friend, and to not hear any of them threw him for a loop. He’d look over his shoulder to get a second opinion from John, and only see empty air. Whenever he’d rush through his deductions and expect to hear that quiet voice say “Amazing”, he’d be only met with silence. Sherlock even started missing the “Show-off” John would say every now and then.

He stopped working on cases. When Lestrade asked why, he said something about not being necessary and how Lestrade was doing ok by himself, but the truth was that he couldn’t deal with the voice that haunted him during the crime scenes. For this very same reason he moved out of Baker Street. John seemed to haunt him everywhere, and unlike the normal sounds of the world, he couldn’t mute him. Not that he wanted to anyway, but the constant echo of _his_ voice would drive him to distraction.

The new flat was much smaller, practically the same that... _John_ , was in when he returned to London. The irony was not lost on Sherlock. Yet the flat was a good and a _bad_ idea. He now forced himself to come to terms with the death of his best friend, but all the little memories that would float up in Baker Street and helped console him, just weren’t there. John’s _essence_ that seemed to linger in the old flat was gone, and that may just be the worst thing could possibly happen to him. Being situated in a seedier part of town only added to the pressure. Too many temptations around him, the drugs, John’s old gun.

No matter how independent and stalwart Sherlock believed himself to be, he was not as strong as when John was around and it was not long before he ended up in his flat with a new needle and little packet with seemingly innocuous crystals. It was glorious. He hadn’t felt so alive since running around London with John. It freed him from the grief and emotions and wrapped him in a blanket of home. It was as if he was back in Baker Street with John. It was too good.

The crash was bad. It was as if all the grief and anger and shit that he would have felt while he was high just compressed and drowned him. Then and there Sherlock decided it was time for another fix. There was just enough crystal to get high again and everything just fell away and he was left with that warm feeling again. Logically his brain knew it wasn’t real and that this wasn’t what he was supposed to do, but when confronted with a choice, pain and grief or warmth and John, he chose John. He always chose John and he would continue to choose John. It was their fate. John would always choose Sherlock, and Sherlock would always choose John. It was the way the universe worked and Sherlock was not about to go against it.

Every day was a routine of wake up, shoot up, then go out and maybe find a small case that would bring in enough cash for his next fix. Because of the drugs, he avoided Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. He knew what it would do to them and he didn’t want to deal with that mess. All thoughts of Mycroft were ignored, and according to Sherlock he was as good as dead. Mycroft failed and his friend paid for it. Sherlock no longer had a brother.

* * *

 

It was a calm evening at the Yard. Well, as calm as can be, I mean, it was a police station for pete’s sake! Lestrade had just got himself a decent cup of coffee and was making himself comfortable in his chair, not looking forward to the pile of paperwork, when he was interrupted by Sally bursting in to the office.  
“Sir, I think you need to see this.”  
“What is it?”  
“It’s, well, it’s Holmes, sir. He’s in the cell and... well, he doesn’t look so good.”  
“What do you mean he’s in the cell?”  
“Just, come see for yourself.”

It was almost reminiscent of his early days with Sherlock, except he hadn’t had the cloud of grief and loss hovering over him. His manner was cheerful, but when he went to get up and walk up to Lestrade, it was obvious what Sally was talking about. Sherlock was painfully thin, almost emancipated, weak, and had all the tell-tale signs of drug addiction. He had lost the coat and the clothes he was wearing weren’t at all adequate protection against the cold.

“Ah, Gregson!”  
“It’s Greg. What have you done to yourself you daft git?”  
“Whaddaya mean, what have I done to myself?”  
“Sherlock, you’re back on the drugs. Why? What would John say?” Lestrade immediately wanted to take back what he just said, but it was too late. Utter anguish came over Sherlock.  
“John, don’t tell John. Please. He wouldn’t like it. Please Greg!”  
This gave Greg pause. Had Sherlock not come to terms with the, suicide? “Sherlock, you do know what happened…”  
“NO! Don’t… say it!” Sherlock curled up on himself, hugging his knees to him chest. “It, makes _it_ go away.”  
“Makes what go away?” It must be the drugs talking, but Greg couldn’t walk away from his broken friend.  
“It makes _home_ go away. It makes _John_ go away. I don’t want John to go away! Don’t want…” He collapsed onto the cot, still breathing.  
Greg turned to Sally. ”Ok, he can stay here. I guess he has to face some charges, right?”  
Her face looks pained and slightly guilty. “Yes sir.”

* * *

 

Sherlock blearily woke, trying to remember where he was. There was a blurry figure in front of him. As he blinked to clear his vision, it slowly came into focus.  
“John! But, how?”  
“Sherlock, its time. You’ve been through enough.”  
Sherlock stretches his hands out to him. “You’re not leaving me?”  
A sad smile makes its way onto John’s face. “No, I’m not leaving you. You’re coming with me.”  
Sherlock stretches up, _weird he seems lighter than before_ , and takes John’s hand pulling him into a hug. Their first hug. “My John. You’re never leaving me again.”  
John returns the hug. “And you’re never leaving me too, Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo sorry about how long its taken me to update. I would always sit down and not have the guts to end this how it was supposed to end, but not its finished. I'm also really sorry about how its ended. I think some people had an idea, but still, its hard (even for me) to see it in print. I hope the ending gives it a little relief so it doesn't end that harshly.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if it feels like I'm just rehashing the same post-Reichenbach theme like everyone else is, but I was bored and this is what came out of the weird part of my brain (not part, the whole of it). Also I know this needs some work, but I am too lazy to do it. Anywhoo, please leave a comment and let me know how this affected you. Who know, it might prompt me to work on it.


End file.
